


Chasing Cars

by anr



Category: The Pretender
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-12-18
Updated: 2006-12-18
Packaged: 2017-11-05 15:10:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/407870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anr/pseuds/anr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's not just about the hunt anymore; maybe never was.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Chasing Cars

**Author's Note:**

  * For [athena4lynn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/athena4lynn/gifts).



> Request: Jarod/Parker non-romance/friendship.

"Things are different now," she says. "It's no longer just you run, and I chase. Raines and Lyle have changed that."

He is silent for too long; she can hear him pacing. Finally, he says, "I'm not worried."

She is.

  


* * *

  


In Alaska, the snow is dirty, wet. Jarod's been pretending as an architect, and his gift to her is a carefully constructed ice-cube igloo that's small enough to fit on the palm of her hand. She's not impressed.

"How long ago did he leave?"

"Like, one, maybe two hours ago?" His secretary du jour is bottle blonde and every inch the associated stereotype. "Can I, you know, go now? _Passions_ is, like, almost on and I so can't miss Sheridan and Luis' big --"

She waves the girl away, quickly and gladly. "Idiot," she says under her breath. She looks to Sydney. "Speak."

"Interesting young woman," he says, deliberately misunderstanding. "Her personality was --"

"Obnoxious and moronic. How Jarod refrained from drowning her is beyond me." She glares at him, and then turns on Broots. "Well?"

He shrugs nervously. "There's nothing."

" _Define_ nothing."

Nothing turns out to be no airfares, seafares or snowmobile hires. Even the local mushers -- and their dogs -- have all been accounted for. A perfect escape.

Broots says, "I'm sorry, Miss Parker."

When they leave, she tosses the igloo into the Gastineau Channel. It was starting to melt anyway.

  


* * *

  


In San Francisco, Jarod is a postman with a six hour head start.

In Georgia, he's a janitor, and was last seen finishing his shift the night before.

In New Jersey, he's a computer software engineer, and his macros finished running twenty-four hours ago.

  


* * *

  


"You're running," she accuses him.

He sighs. "I've been running for over five years now, Parker."

Her turn to pace. "Not like this you weren't!" She hasn't seen him in almost three months; has heard from him even less. Even his clues and gifts are fading away.

"He can't kill you both," says Jarod. "Not if you both fail."

 _This_ is his plan? "Jarod --"

Dial-tone; he's gone.

  


* * *

  


In Boston, Jarod's a shopping mall Santa Claus.

"When did he leave?" she asks, flicking through one of the many photo albums left behind. Every picture is the same -- some random kid sitting on a suited up Jarod's knee, both of them grinning cheerily for the camera. She finds it kind of disturbing.

"The twenty-fourth."

"Did he say where he was going?"

Jarod's 'elf' nods. "Yep."

She clenches her teeth. "Did he _elaborate_?"

"Said he had his rounds to make," he says, like it's obvious. She arches an eyebrow. "You know, delivering toys to all the good little boys and girls in the world?" Grinning, he holds out a bucket. "Leftover candy cane?"

The cracking sound the candy makes when she snaps it in half is almost soothing.

  


* * *

  


In Illinois, he's an actuary, and on leave since the previous Friday.

In Salt Lake City, a telemarketer. Resigned a week ago.

In Atlanta, he's Harry fucking Houdini for all that she sees of him. They're close to a fortnight behind now; already she knows any possible leads found in his lair will be cold.

  


* * *

  


Seven months and counting. She can't eat, can't sleep. She thinks she's getting another ulcer.

"Parker," he says, and his voice is a memory, a dream, a want so sharp it hurts.

"Jarod --" She closes her eyes; grips her cell phone too tight. It's not just about the hunt anymore; maybe never was. "-- _where are you_?"

  


* * *

  


In Seattle, she finds him in a shopping mall. Finds him, loses him, and maybe that glimpse would have been okay, would have been enough, except Lyle has tagged along this time and nothing ever ends well when he's around.

Adrenaline makes her head spin and heart pound as she chases Jarod -- and Lyle chases her -- through a shopping mall on Bellevue. Bright lights and small children, pretty things all on display. Through boutiques and department stores until they burst into the parking complex and the only thing she can hear is the staccato of her heels on the scuffed concrete.

She loses Jarod for real in bay twelve and draws her gun on the car that screeches to a stop beside her on level eight.

"Get in," Jarod says, leaning across the passenger seat and unlocking the door for her, and she doesn't even look back once before doing just that.

"Are you deranged?" she hisses, pointing her gun at his head on cue. "Lyle followed me! He's --"

"Probably still caught in the cineplex queues," he says, pausing at the complex gates to pay his parking fees. He is remarkably nonplussed about the situation, and she stares past his profile just in time to see Broots gaping soundlessly at them and Lyle emerging from a fire exit not ten feet away.

"Or not," she says through clenched teeth, and her head hits the dash when Jarod floors the gas. " _Fuck_."

He doesn't even glance at her. "Put your seatbelt on."

She shakes it off, does what he says, and looks over her shoulder just in time to see Lyle take aim. The back window shatters most impressively, and Jarod takes a corner too fast and they're out of sight.

She knows it won't last. Freedom _never_ lasts.

She runs a hand through her hair, and flicks away pieces of glass. When she looks back again, sweepers are pulling in behind them. "Perfect, just fucking _perfect_."

"Hold on," says Jarod, and the car loses traction around another corner, recovers, and now they're on the I-5, travelling half as fast again.

She's still pointing her gun at him, the safety off, which will certainly make things interesting when they cause the multi-car pile-up she knows is inevitable. She makes no move to put it away.

"So," he says, "you look good."

"Small talk?" she asks incredulously. "Seriously?"

He indicates to change lanes. "You don't think you look good?"

She fights the urge to shoot him. "I think how I look is extremely irrelevant when we're being chased at ninety miles an hour by my brother. I think I'd much rather know what the fuck is going on than talk about the weather. And I think I'd really like to know why the _hell_ you've only called four times in the last nine months!" She probably didn't mean to say that last part.

He smiles. "I missed you too."

She glares. "Don't make me shoot you." Ahead of them, peak hour traffic is slowing everyone to a crawl around one of the exits. In a minute, maybe two, they'll be forced to stop. She snaps. "So now what, genius?"

He changes lanes again, and then again; weaving them in and out of the slowing traffic. The sweepers aren't as responsive, and soon there's at least half a dozen cars between them. "I'm leaving."

"What a shock."

He glances at her briefly; shakes his head. "No, I mean _I'm leaving_. I'm done."

Her maybe-ulcer flares, and she forces herself to laugh around the pain. "I'll find you."

"Not this time."

"Yes, Jarod, this time," she says with faux-patience. " _Every_ time. It's what we do."

_You run, I chase._

"Parker," he says, and his patience actually sounds sincere. "I'm _done_. I won't go back to the Centre, and I won't watch you die trying to make me. This game is _over_."

He's insane, she thinks. "What makes you think you have any choice in the matter? You can't stop the Centre from looking for you. It doesn't _work_ that way. They'll send me after you, whether you like it or not, and --"

"And you won't ever find me." A significant pause. "I won't _let_ you."

And there it is. What she's always known, and never let herself acknowledge, because it sounds too much like failure. He could have disappeared without a trace years ago; could have, but never did, and this is what the past nine months have been: a reminder of that. She clenches her teeth. "So this is what? Your way of saying goodbye? A high speed chase farewell? How fucking original." Except it's not really so high speed anymore, and when she looks back, the sweepers have gained again -- only four cars behind now.

"It doesn't have to be."

She turns to him. "Doesn't have to be what?"

"Goodbye."

It's not too late for her. Despite whatever Lyle thinks he's seen, her being in the same car as Jarod doesn't mean she's conspiring against the Centre. Hell, even if she doesn't bring Jarod in today, it won't mean she's failed. She can walk away from this mess, can still go back. She's that good, if nothing else.

"Do you have a lead on our mothers?"

"No." He's lying, but that's par for the course. Information comes at a price, and he's too damn honourable to bribe her.

"Jarod --"

The car stops.

The car stops, and whatever she was going to say fades away, because this is it. This is goodbye. This is where she either shoots him, and takes him in, or gets out of the car, and talks her way back into the Centre.

Slowly, she undoes her seatbelt. Opens the car door. Jarod says nothing, just stares straight ahead, his hands clenched around the steering wheel, knuckles turning white. She gets out. Turns.

She shoots five times.

A bullet for each front tyre, and one for the shoulder of the sweeper who was stupidly brave enough to think he could walk up and pull them out of the car. _Moron_.

She gets back in the car and refastens her seatbelt. When she looks up at him, he's grinning. "Nice," he says, over the screams of the people around them.

"Jarod?"

"Parker?"

She nods at the traffic jam she knows he can navigate them around; slowly smiles. "Shut up and drive." 

  


* * *

The End

**Author's Note:**

> ORIGINAL URL: <http://anr.livejournal.com/262960.html>


End file.
